If My Heart Should Somehow Stop (I'll Hang On To The Hope)
by atouchofredemption
Summary: It's a ridiculous notion, really, but that's okay because it works. For a while they're lost in each other, but that's okay too because he'll follow the stars and she'll follow the streetlights and both will lead them all the way back to a little table outside Granny's diner in Storybrooke, Maine. Back home.


**Hey guys! I posted this on ao3 a few weeks back and completely forgot to put it up here as well. Either way, this was my first foray into OUaT fic-writing, and the response was pretty good so I think I'll definitely keep writing for this fandom after I finish my two major assignments :)**

**(the title and lyrics are taken from _And If My Heart Should Somehow Stop _by James Vincent McMorrow, which is a- one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard and b- perfect for CS)**

* * *

_The wind changed, the first day that you came through  
Cut the corn, washed it clean  
Everything that's ever gone before, is like a blur  
And it's all because of you_

* * *

"It's so nice to meet you, Neal." Emma smiles softly at her baby brother.

_Brother_. That is going to take quite a bit of getting used to.

But that's the thing. She has everything she ever wanted, right here. Her parents. Her brother. _Henry_. And it's _all_ going to take getting used to but she's kind of okay with that because right now everything feels amazing and, well, _magical_. And for the first time in a long time, she feels like she doesn't have to be afraid. She doesn't have to be alone.

_But._

There's a nagging feeling at the back of her mind, tugging softly at her heart like it's waiting just barely on the wrong side of patience for her to notice its quiet persistence. She's been aware of it for quite some time now, but she's been pushing it down, like everything else, with the help of her not-so-genuine desire to return to New York. She hasn't been entirely sure what it's about, anyway, and that just increases her desire to ignore it because she's never much liked things that she doesn't understand.

She's never really believed in fairytales.

But she does now. After everything that happened over the past few days (or three decades ago, or whatever), how can she hold onto even the tiniest bit of cynicism?

Emma freezes.

The past few days. _Shit_. Suddenly Emma knows, without a doubt, what's missing.

(She's not as surprised as she thinks she probably should be but she's still a little taken aback by the realization.)

She turns to smile at him, to call him over, but he's not there. For the first time since he brought her back from New York, Killian isn't standing at her side or waiting in the background to offer a reassuring smile, or sitting nearby just in case something else goes wrong.

(Emma's not really sure when she started thinking of him as _Killian_. Before New York, before the missing year, it was _always _Hook. She'd hardly even registered that he had another name. She's not sure what shifted in the back of her mind when he came back for her- came back _to _her, but she'd be lying if she said it doesn't feel more natural this way.)

Eventually she spots him, through the window. He's sitting outside, completely alone save for the flask in his hand; for the most part he seems to be lost in his own thoughts. And for the first time Emma feels comfortable enough in her skin, in her home, to _understand. _

She doesn't miss the surprise on his face when she settles into the seat beside him. She doesn't miss it, but she ignores it; she doesn't want to think about all the times she's shut him down or pushed him away. _Not right now_.

Instead, she launches straight into conversation, before she can let herself do it again.

"So," she says. "Do you think Rumplestiltskin was right?"

He raises an eyebrow at her apparent cheerfulness but says nothing, so she elaborates.

"I'm in the book now. He said everything besides our little adventure would go back to normal. Do you think that it is?"

The conversation that follows is light-hearted; the bickering they've been doing lately replaced by the gentle teasing they fell into during their trip to the past. She's happier than she can ever remember being, and she feels none of her usual urges to deflect his quips. It's easy to slip right back into that rhythm, like they play off of each other in conversation the same way they do in a fight- in some perfectly timed execution of chemistry (if she were so inclined to be that cliché).

(She still hates that he was right, though. They do make quite the team.)

Once the banter starts to fade out, replaced by that simple, earnest look he always gives her (_yearning_, she pretends not to think), she can't help but ask him the question that's been nagging at her since he found her in New York.

"How did you do it? How did you _get to me_?"

The smile that graces his lips at that last little addition- at her actually _acknowledging _why he really came back- makes her feel the same way she did the very first time Henry came to find her. The difference of course being that the tides have changed enough that she's actually okay with letting herself really feel it this time.

But what she hears is the last thing she ever expected. She'd gathered from how closed-mouthed he'd been about it that he didn't really want to talk about whatever it was he'd done to get here. When the words slip from his mouth so easily, like he hasn't had a single second thought about the choice since he made it, she feels a rush of guilt. She thought he'd been lying out of shame, or maybe for fear of her reaction if she found out that he'd made some awful deal to cross between worlds. _She thought he'd been covering his ass._

She has to ask again, has to double check that her superpower isn't failing her.

"You traded your _ship _for me?"

He meets her gaze evenly; no longer wearing that fake grin he'd plastered on to cover how much he was hurting over the loss of the Jolly Roger.

"Aye." There's no hesitation, no indication of regret. He doesn't even break eye contact. _He's made his choice_.

And in the split second after the word leaves his lips she just _knows_, without any trace of doubt, that she's made hers as well. She's half expecting it to crash down on her, to hit her like a freight train that _this is how much he loves her;_ part of her is just waiting for the swell of emotions to freeze her in place the way they usually do, bringing her almost to tears, because _she's not good at this_, not at all.

(She's not used to somebody putting her first.)

But there's no crashing waves, no overwhelming shift in the sand. She doesn't freeze. Instead she feels warmth washing over her, spreading through her entire being, melting through the last of the icy walls she's been keeping around her heart. And finally she just _knows_. She takes a leap of faith.

It's nothing like their first kiss. This is slow and deliberate, and she doesn't close her eyes until she can feel his breath on her face. His lips press back against hers softly, almost gently at first, and she's never felt anything quite like this before. When she was with Walsh, he always seemed to be holding back a little, as though he was afraid of her (she didn't know why at the time but it's safe to say she's got a pretty good idea now). With Neal it was young love; everything was doey-eyes and fiery passion, like they were afraid that if they let go of one another it would all fall away (since then she's grown and matured and learned enough to know that holding on too tight was what really destroyed them in the end). This is passionate too- maybe even more so- but it's not a wildfire. It's a slow burn; it's a warm hearth on a winter's night and it feels like _home _(_he _feels like home)_._

If it's like anything, it's like the moment she nearly had with Graham- like all the heartbeats they never quite got to share. Emma doesn't know much about what her future with him would have been like because she blocked it all out (she always does that, she always blocks it all out) and by the time she was okay, anything she could imagine of that future had faded away. But she remembers that it felt a little bit like a happy ending, or at least the way she's always imagined that might be. And this feels the same; it's more intense because her life has changed so much since then and maybe she wasn't quite ready to stop running before, but _it feels the same and_ _she's tired of living in the past._

She feels the months she spent with Walsh slipping from her mind, his betrayal becoming all but irrelevant because she knows she can't change the past (the irony of that thought isn't lost on her). The life she lost with Graham falls away into fond memories and finally, _finally_, she does the one thing she's never quite been able to bring herself to do. _She lets Neal go_. The weight of Tallahassee lifts from her shoulders; when it does she feels twelve years of heartache dissolving into gentle nostalgia. She's forgiven him for everything. She's apologized for everything. And for a moment she lets herself imagine that she's standing at the water's edge with Killian, holding his hand while they watch Milah sailing away on the Jolly Roger. It's a ridiculous notion, really, but that's okay because it works. For a while they're lost in each other, but that's okay too because he'll follow the stars and she'll follow the streetlights and both will lead them all the way back to a little table outside Granny's diner in Storybrooke, Maine. Back _home_.

(He's done so much, come all this way for the both of them while she was wringing her hands and pretending not to care; it's _about bloody time_ they made a habit of meeting in the middle instead.)

After a while she feels the uncertainty creeping back to the forefront of her mind and she pulls back, just for a moment, because she's let go of the past but not the fear and she's _so afraid_ of this. He doesn't chase her lips, doesn't press her for more; he just stays still- _understanding_- and waits for her to make the next move. That, combined with the realization that _she can have this_, brings a giddy, almost lovestruck smile to her face; she's not scared to meet his eyes anymore but she doesn't feel like she needs to so she rests her forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed and all her senses drinking him in (for a moment she thinks she can hear his heartbeat before she figures out that it's just hers, beating in time with his breath). He seems to take the gesture as approval and dives in to kiss her again. She's not complaining; someone more naïve than her might fall in love with him for the way he kisses alone.

(But part of her gets the feeling that she's not the only one here who's never had a kiss quite like this one.)

When enough time has passed for both of them to fully come to terms with the reality that they're sort of in a public place, with Emma's entire family inside, they come to an unspoken mutual agreement about whatever this is between them. He gets to his feet and offers her his hand to help her up.

She doesn't take his hand. _She takes his hook. _And the look on his face tells her without question that she's the first woman- perhaps the first _person_- who hasn't either avoided the thing or just flat-out refused to look at it. For a moment she's worried that they're both going to start crying because it hurts her to think about all the times she and her family have made off-hand comments about it and she can see in his eyes now that it means a lot to him, for her to treat it like it isn't ugly or even strange. But neither of them are quite ready to break down like that yet (it's coming for both of them, it has to be. If the amount of times she's cried the past few days is what comes from thirty years of repressed emotions, Killian's three hundred mean he's got another thing coming. But they'll deal with it together.)

For now she settles for a knowing smirk as she strokes the skin just above his brace and chooses to stay a little closer than necessary (because she _can_) as they head back inside to rejoin their family.

* * *

_And there are times I know when I will have to chase you  
And the further from my side you go, the longing grows  
And I will hate it, I still want you  
Cause I will hate it, but I still want you around_

* * *

**Reviews are welcome! Constructive criticism is encouraged, hate is ignored :)**

**~ Kaiya ~**


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